


Cat and the Fox

by summers_honey_breath



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Biracial Character, Canon Divergence, Casual Sex, Dialogue Heavy, Eventual Romance, F/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Some Humor, obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-10-27 08:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17763632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summers_honey_breath/pseuds/summers_honey_breath
Summary: Courier Catalina "Cat" Sun manages to outwit Vulpes Inculta himself and, compelling him to personally escort her to Caesar, neglects to mention the many detours she has in mind.  Vulpes, for his part, comes to a jarring realization right off the bat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be much appreciated :)

Vodka sloshed into the glass. Ice crackled as it rushed to the brim, clear as water. Catalina snatched up her drink, took a sip, and sauntered down the length of the Tops restaurant bar, skirt swishing around her legs. At the end was a man in a suit as brown as his whiskey.  
“Vulpes Inculta, leader of Caesar’s Frumentarii,” said Cat, sotto voce. “Long time no see. I have to ask, what kind of ‘master spy’ gets caught by his target?”  
“Courier Six,” came the tight reply.  
“You thought I’d hightail it out of here after I killed Benny, didn’t you? Either you haven’t been following me long enough to know my tells or you need new informants. Or maybe you just don’t live up to the legend.”  
Certainly, Vulpes knew that she’d hired a number of mercenaries to keep tabs on him—and intentionally do a poor job of hiding it. What he didn’t know, or so she hoped, was that she was no slouch herself when it came to snooping and surveilling. No match for him, but no slouch. Though it was luck, rather than skill, which had lent her the upper hand. Today, at least.  
The Frumentarius muttered to himself.  
“ _Filius_ _canis_? Yes, you are quite the son of a bitch, though I wonder if that’s more of an insult to your poor mother.”  
She slung an arm over his shoulders, recharger pistol poised above his groin. A finger traced the outline of something in his breast pocket.  
“Well, well. What’s this?”  
Vulpes grabbed her hand and squeezed, hard enough to grind the bones. “Have care, Courier. Eyes are on us both.”  
“Some more than others,” said Cat, squeezing back. Raul and Cass were ensconced in a booth across the room, ready to assist should she give the signal. “You know, you’re remarkably calm for a man whose cock could be blown to dust at any moment.”  
“Were that your intention, you would have done so already.”  
Chuckling, she molded herself to his back; sleek black hair tickled his cheek as she whispered, “Either way, you’re coming upstairs with me. We’re going to have a little chat.”

 

Vulpes had never walked anywhere with a gun pressed to his side. For that matter, he’d never walked anywhere with a woman half-behind him, arm firmly around his waist beneath his jacket, bearing him onward. A woman who’d swiped his Ripper. She might well have chopped off his arm.  
Not that he’d been given much choice.  
The stumbling staccato of her heels prompted him to match her gait if only out of instinct to blend in. Though he knew this was for show, for her own enjoyment. The Courier had barged into the Tops mere hours ago, intent on revenge, and all but announced a change in management. Now that Benny was dead, none here would challenge her.  
“C’mon, baby,” she said. “Can’t wait to get you alone!”  
She was a decent actress, he’d give her that.  
The ghoul and the ginger-haired merchant ushered them into an elevator, which whisked them up to the presidential suite. There the Courier thrust him into a chair and smiled as her accomplices tied him up.  
“You can leave us,” she said.  
“You sure, Catita?” said the ghoul, a withered hand clasping her shoulder. “I don’t trust this _gringo_ one bit.”  
“Fuckin’ emotionally void creep, is what he is,” said the merchant.  
“I’m sure you’re right, Cass. _Y Raul_ …” She spoke in rapid Spanish with the ghoul before addressing them both. “Now off with you. Go on.”  
“Alright, _mija_.”  
“Fine, then. I need a drink.”  
As the pair departed Vulpes looked around. A chandelier bathed the room in golden warmth, edged with the fluorescence of the naked bulbs that adorned the ceiling and walls. Two billiards tables sat adjacent from the bar, and a potted tree draped a pall of shade over the little sitting area, which had become his prison. He dug his heels into the faded oriental carpet.  
“We’re already acquainted,” said the Courier. Her narrow, uptilted eyes gleamed. “But, if you care to refer to me as anything other than ‘Courier,’ everyone calls me Cat.”  
Vulpes searched her face for signs of strain or weakness, to no avail. She only smiled.  
“Just tell me what you want and have done with it. Clearly, I am at your mercy.”  
“Hm.” The Courier reached for his hat, bodice stretching taut over her chest. “No,” she said and cast the hat aside. “No, don’t insult me. This won’t be that simple. Can’t be.”  
“You must know I would sooner die than reveal anything of Caesar’s designs to you?” said Vulpes.  
The thought did not so much frighten as frustrate him. All these years of clawing, tearing his way up the Legion hierarchy—proving himself the best of the best, the most worthy of his Lord’s trust—only to wind up in the hands of the last person he expected. He wouldn’t talk, not for the world. But to die would certainly be a great inconvenience.  
“Are you hungry?” asked the Courier, simpering. “Thirsty?”  
“Famished and parched,” he sneered. “Why, should I expect a five-course meal? Or shall we subsist on last night’s hunt?”  
“Haven’t decided yet. Haven’t decided just what to do with you, either. I’ll start with this.” She plucked the coin from his pocket, swung it by its cord. As the silver disk flashed, Caesar’s profile winked in and out of sight. “A denarius?”  
“The Mark of Caesar. A guarantee of safe passage. My Lord would speak with you.”  
The Courier twinkled. “Even now?”  
“That remains to be seen.”  
“Do you really think so highly of yourself? Your Lord doesn’t seem the type to mind if I killed you.”  
A knife flashed alongside the Mark, a metallic clink cutting the air as she struck it. She whistled and two cyberdogs loped into the room, settling at their mistress’s heels.  
“I’ve heard that Caesar’s Houndmaster was a Hangdog. A pity your Great Usurper takes credit where it isn’t due.”  
He kept silent.  
“Meet Roxie and Rex. My dogs don’t have much of an appetite for human flesh, but they sure do fight like hellhounds.”  
“Is there a point to these empty threats?”  
“Not a one; I just like the sound of my own voice.”  
“You are stalling, Courier.”  
Like a shot, her blade was at his jugular. “And you’re Caesar’s pet through and through. I can’t break you, true, but I can still wear you down. If words don’t suffice, I have ways of making you sing.”  
Somehow Vulpes didn’t think such “ways” were as cruel as she made them sound; she was a charmer, not an interrogator. Certainly not a torturer.  
If anything, this was bluster. Yet the thought of her exacting terrible violence had a profound effect on him. How unfortunate that it showed.  
“Well, that can’t be a gun in your pocket.”  
The Frumentarius turned his eyes to the wall.

 

Cat could always veil her nerves in evasive wit. Or so she liked to think. Affecting confidence when one’s innards churned like the winds of the Hidden Valley? No mean feat, that.  
In the event, rambling proved a poor interrogation tactic. Short of torture, for which she had little appetite, she had no real plan, no strategy in mind. No idea what she was doing at all, in truth.  
Raised among the Followers of the Apocalypse, her intellect had been expertly honed—more than a match for the Frumentarii leader’s. It was his particular brand of cunning she lacked, though there were many things two bullets to the head had struck from her memories. Remembrance came and went as it pleased. Perhaps she’d been better at these things before?  
Whatever the case, her luck had run out.  
“What in the name of Mars are you doing?” said Vulpes, watching as she bent to ruck up her dress. While his eyes remained cold warmth colored his cheeks, emphasizing the sharp bones.  
Cat slipped the knife back into its sheath at her thigh. “A leg man, then. Duly noted.” With a wink, she snapped her fingers. “Roxie, Rex?”  
The cyberdogs gamboled off to the sound of her laughter.  
“It’s a shame you’re a Legion bastard. We could have a lot of fun together, you and I.” She rose, white silk wafting down to mid-calf. “We still can, I suppose.”  
When her fist sailed into his liver, the Frumentarius gasped, groaned, curled into himself as much as restraints permitted. It was an effort not to void his stomach.  
A second punch there would do the trick. Cat, feeling generous, opted instead for his throat.  
“Poor _Señor_ _Zorro_. That is gonna bruise.”  
“ _Futue_ … _te_ _ipsi_.”  
She backhanded him. Once, twice. “Well, fuck you too. That was for Nipton. You deserve far worse, but I’m not a complete sadist. Ha! Not that you would mind…”  
The bulge in his trousers stirred her more than she cared to admit; the intensity of his gaze made her cheeks hot, her chest tight. Indeed, if memory served, she’d never been more aroused in her life. Though perhaps that wasn’t saying much; it had taken her weeks to remember her own name.  
Fingers flexed, Cat swiveled on her heel and stalked over to the bar. “I suppose I acted rashly in my earlier triumph,” she said, rummaging about. “And I suppose I should let you go. Shouldn’t kill you if you might prove of some use.”  
“And what use might I prove to you?”  
“Hard to say just now. But as Caesar himself bestowed this Mark on me, one assumes it’s beyond your authority to relinquish it. You’ll sooner serve me than touch me.”  
“Is that so?” Vulpes wheezed, voice like ragged velvet.  
The crack of a broken seal filled the space between them, followed by the heady reek of scotch. Cat took a swig, savoring the burn. “We’ll just have to see.”

The Courier untied Vulpes’s feet and set ice to his liver and throat, even allowed him a more comfortable perch on the loveseat, cyberdogs standing sentinel on either side. Dress smoothed and tucked away, her curves were wrapped in well-oiled leathers.  
“We’ll leave within the hour,” she ruled and dropped a larger set of armor onto the coffee table. “You can change then, and I might even return your Ripper. So long as you keep your word.”  
Why would he not? The trek to Cottonwood Cove was long and perilous, in the way of all treks across the Mojave. Company was rarely unwelcome, even if “company” entailed this particular young woman.  
Over a decade past, she’d been a child, seven years his junior, a girl who’d blossomed into this swaggering, sharp-tongued young woman. Catalina Sun, who’d eagerly tripped along in her parents’ wake whenever the Followers called on his village. Little Catalina, now Cat, all grown up.  
“I shall keep my word,” said the Frumentarius. “Whatever your opinion of me, I always keep my word.”  
Head cocked, the Courier worked a bandana through her hair. A shiny lock slipped free, stroking her cheek like a raven’s feather. “Huh. I’m sure you’re not above wielding semantics to your advantage, but you are better at your job than I thought. That almost sounded honorable.”  
Shame—now that was something Vulpes hadn’t felt in a long time. If he’d been relieved that she did not know him before, he was incredibly grateful for it now.  
“Were you to free me completely, we might leave sooner,” he said, jaw clenched.  
She glared at him. “Rox and Rex will tear you apart at the first sign of trouble.”  
As she cut his binds Vulpes scanned her face. The golden skin was smooth, freckled across the rounded nose and free of blemish, the lips soft and full. Even scowling, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  
“Pack for you,” she said abruptly and dropped the canvas at his feet. “There’s food, water, and stimpaks, et cetera. Might want a stimpak for those, ah…injuries, unless you’d like to be in excruciating pain for a good long while. Masochist that you are, I wouldn’t be surprised. Just leave me out of it this time.”  
Vulpes took the proffered syringe.

In silence, they departed. With ED-E, Rex and Roxie in tow, Cat had the makings of a small army; better a company of animal and machine than humans who might not take kindly to the presence of a Legionary.  
At her insistence, flanked by the cyberdogs, Vulpes strode a few paces ahead.  
“Are you allowed to use profligate medicine?” she asked, thinking aloud.  
Something akin to tension flickered in his bearing. “The Frumentarii have leave to avail themselves of things the Legion doesn’t normally permit.” A pause, a measuring of words. He cast a backward glance. “Healing powder wouldn’t have sufficed.”  
Cat assumed her prettiest smile. “And the whiskey? That part of your cover?”  
Once more, silence.  
Such snippets of conversation rose and fell, came and went like the ocean tides as they plodded on through Freeside, dispatching miscreants here and there, torn to ribbons by Ripper, blown to dust by laser. At length, they spilled out into the open desert and were promptly swallowed by the blue-black gloom.  
Cat relished the arch of the star-freckled sky, the air fresh as rain on her skin. Only at night did she bare her face; only then did she remove scarf, shades, and hat, all but naked to the world till dawn flushed pink and creamy peach along the horizon.  
While almost none of her exploits went unnoticed, few beyond the Strip knew what she actually looked like. It was not anonymity. It was not safety. But it was something.  
“Courier?”  
“Hm?”  
Vulpes had come to a halt, one hand idly scratching behind Roxie’s ears. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. This isn’t the way to Cottonwood Cove.”  
Cat sidled up to him. “Well, no. Did I not mention the detours?”  
“Detours, plural?”  
“You’re just bringing this up now?”  
“I thought you might be lost in direction as well as thought.”  
“How poetic.”  
He smiled—or something like a smile, the corners of his lips barely curled. It was not a thing of beauty.  
“You wanted to see if things might somehow pan out in your favor,” said Cat, arms akimbo. “Look, we both know I’m in charge here. But if you have questions, by all means, ask away. I might deign to provide some answers. This only works if we work together. I’m only nice if you work with me.”  
“Very well. Where are we going?”  
“HELIOS One.”  
“Whatever for?”  
“NCR work. Nothing that will threaten Caesar’s glorious, slave-trading autocracy, I promise. Just follow my lead. And behave yourself…Gary.”  
“Of all the names—”  
“Zip it, Gary!”


	2. Chapter 2

Cat had a knack for computers. Vulpes, long since deprived of the Followers’ teachings, had never been much for technology and found himself watching intently as her fingers skittered across keyboard after keyboard, hacking as easily as she breathed. So, too, did she disarm traps and tripwires without so much as a falter in her step. And yet those nimble fingers, that clever mind, boasted little affinity for lock-picking.  
“ _Mierda_ , you’re up,” she said, tossing another bobby pin over her shoulder. “Don’t know why I bother.” She stood, stepped back, and swept her arms toward the door.  
Vulpes eyed the pile of split brown sticks at their feet. “Perhaps you’d consider leaving this task to me, going forward?”  
“Sure, sure.”  
A moment of fiddling and the door swung open. “Remind me again why you insist on breaking into every room we come across?”  
It was more of a closet than a room, crammed cheek by jowl with metal shelves and footlockers. Heaps upon heaps of junk littered every available surface, including slabs of a half-caved-in ceiling. A single lightbulb guttered amidst the ruin.  
The Courier stuffed a few tubes of Wonderglue into her pack, then stood on tiptoe to reach for a sheet of scrap metal. Vulpes plucked it off the shelf.  
“Thanks,” she said, pulling down her scarf to reveal her smile. “And should I consider that a pointless or a rhetorical question?”  
So it went, more or less, in every building, every base through which they helped, schemed or shot and sliced their way. The onus of lock-picking—and, in moments of weariness or charity, even negotiation—relinquished to him, Vulpes found her easy, even pleasant to work with.  
Much to his surprise, he had no quarrel with their circuitous route. Long had it been since he’d wandered the Wasteland, even longer still since he’d actually helped people—outside the Legion, at any rate—and, as Caesar had charged him only with keeping tabs on the Courier, shirked duties were a non-issue.  
It was a nice change of pace, if rather alien.  
Yet there remained the question of her memory, for she seemed to remember something new every other day. Mostly trifles, to fill in the blanks—her first dog’s name, the year her Grandmother Ling died. Why she shared these things with him, Vulpes couldn’t say.  
Always, always he wondered how much of her childhood she could recall. Part of him hoped that, if she did remember their years together at all, it was just that she no longer recognized him.  
The more time they spent together, the more uneasy he became. It was no chore to conceal it, though; years of intense, often brutal training had yet to prove for naught.  
But guilt? Well, that was insidious.

After two weeks of travel, Cat sent Rex and Roxie back to the Strip. ED-E was a more than adequate chaperone, constantly bobbing and weaving between her and Vulpes, ever vigilant. Her dogs still possessed of some biological needs and deserved some R&R.  
One particularly chilly night the new trio made camp and stoked a roaring fire. Red-gold flames glinted off Cat’s knife as she sliced the vegetables in her lap. “You fought well today,” she said, gesturing towards Vulpes, recumbent on the other side of the campfire.  
At his silence, she looked up. The fool had been staring. Unusual, but not without cause, Cat supposed. In lieu of an armored duster, brown trousers flared loose around her legs, the white tank top paired with it a stark contrast—skintight, with a neckline that framed the faint surgical scar down the center of her chest.  
“You fought well today,” she repeated.  
“As did you, Courier,” he said, face impassive. “What happened there, if I may ask?”  
“Old World robobrain scientists. There are scars on my head and back, too.” She pushed back a swathe of hair from her brow, then twisted around, lifting up her shirt.  
“What did they do to you?”  
“Deprived me of some very important parts.” Having kept the artificial heart and spine, she was essentially a cyborg now, though she’d never admit that to anyone. Let alone a Legion spy.  
“You didn’t die?”  
“Not yet.”  
Cat tutted as she dumped chunks of meat into their stew. Nodding, Vulpes rose, picked up a chipped wooden spoon and stirred.  
“I see.”  
“Why all the questions tonight?”  
“Am I not allowed?”  
“I’m just surprised.”  
“You are always asking me questions.”  
“It’s my nature. But you’re a spy, not a politician, and I know you don’t actually care about a profligate’s—a woman’s—wellbeing.”  
“Peace. I was only driven by curiosity.”  
“Listen, remember when you told me you’d taken Nipton with almost no resistance, despite the abundance of Legionary corpses that spoke otherwise? Maybe you thought I was just another wandering idiot. Thing is, convincing relies as much on the delivery as on the recipient—and your own conviction, whether genuine or faked. Thing is, I’m no _pendeja_ , and you’re not convincing me at all. Try again.”  
Now she loomed above him, a Cheshire Cat grin cleaving her face.  
“Really, Courier, I don’t know what to say,” said Vulpes.  
“Doesn’t seem so much a matter of what. Got something you want to say?”  
“Nothing comes to mind.”  
Cat bridled her tongue. Peering into cold eyes she knelt, the better to study him. His gaze shifted to her mouth, fell to her breasts. A long, tapered finger traced the length of the scar, which dipped into the shadows between them.  
“Don’t overthink it,” he murmured. “Do not look for answers where none exist.”  
“Trying to distract me, _Zorro?_ You—”  
With a hoarse chuckle, he pulled her onto his lap.  
“Didn’t think you—”  
He cut her off with a kiss and she parted her thighs around his trunk as they crashed, belly to belly. He was an accomplished kisser, plying his trade as a man who knows his lover well and deeply. A little too gentle for her tastes, but she welcomed it nonetheless.  
“Strip,” she said at length, hand on the back of his neck, fingers curled in thick dark hair.  
Vulpes obliged with eerie calm and expedience. If not for the longstanding proof of his excitement, Cat would have thought him bored.  
Following suit, she nudged him to the ground with a foot. Hooded eyes passed between her legs, where arousal leaked, clear and glossy. She straddled him and worked against the hard, well-hewn muscles of his abdomen. Thus she marked him, anointed him, claimed him as her own.  
Vulpes seized her hips, setting her down atop his mouth, drawing from her sounds both sweet and obscene, which bore through the quiet of the desert night. Release struck like a hammer.  
He then flipped her onto the sand, kissed her neck and breasts and pierced her. So stretched and filled, Cat was lost to all but immediate sensation—lips and teeth along her skin, nails tearing down a muscled back, the well-trained whisk of digits, so near to where they were joined. In time, the ripples and moans of a second climax guided his own. Grunting, Vulpes withdrew, seed streaming onto her belly, white as pearls against the gilded flesh.  
“You were holding out on me,” Cat panted. She could have sworn her limbs had turned to noodles, her bones to jelly. Indeed, her stomach rumbled.  
Another kiss, brief this time and Vulpes moved to snatch up an errant rag. “Oh,” she said, hunger forgotten as the cloth swabbed her thoroughly. “ _Dios_ , put that away and keep going!”

Four more rounds and a hearty meal still found them on opposite sides of the fire. It was just as well; dawn was not far off, and they would make for the Fortification Hill come sunrise. Present company aside, it should have felt like any other impending trip home. But Vulpes lay awake in shadow, wondering if touch alone could prompt remembrance.  
ED-E circled the camp, a spiky, rust-ridden sphere that shredded his nerves with each revolution. He couldn’t ignore the eyebot—not after it had mistaken the Courier’s cries for those of pain, almost searing his arm with a laser. If not for her protests, the damn thing would’ve long since been Ripper-made scrap.  
A whisper, low and groggy, plucked him from his thoughts: “Hey, do you want me to…Or if you just want to…?” A stretch rippled through the Courier’s body, causing the worn, thin blanket to slip from her breasts. Vulpes frowned at the tent pitched in his trousers. It had been hours since they’d last touched, let alone spoken.  
“Go back to sleep,” he said. “We have a long day ahead of us.”  
“I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be,” she said, propping herself up on an elbow.  
“What, no qualms about anything? No second thoughts? Thought you always had something to say.”  
She leaped to her feet and rounded the fire, blanket tucked under her armpits. Without much thought, he pulled her down to sit beside him. The blanket dropped again, and she was bare to the waist.  
“You know, _Zorro_ , you’re somewhat pleasant company, for a Legionary.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another 'un. My indecisive ass might add more here or just move on to another chapter, but who can say?

Courier Six was a sight to behold in stealth armor. The suit fit her body like a glove, and the orange panels of the helmet gleamed like cazadores eyes. Tantalizing, terrifying, and impossible to ignore. Not something she wore often if the suit’s impeccable state was anything to go by.  
“Caesar will want to see your face,” said Vulpes.  
“Sure, sure,” she replied, with some asperity. “No need for every brute in the Legion to see it, though.”  
Understandable. Whatever level of comfortability she now felt with him—in the unlikely event that she felt very much at all—it would not extend to his comrades.  
“I’ll gut anyone who tries anything,” she went on, almost dreamily.  
“No one will lay so much as a finger on you. I swear it.”  
“Talk is cheap, Gary.”  
Cottonwood Cove lay before them in miniature, a sprawl of tents and ramshackle buildings, flanked by rocky crags. The Courier shifted the Gauss rifle on her back, checked her recharger pistol, and marched onward. Her head never turned, but Vulpes knew that her blood boiled at sight of the crosses—some adorned with skeletons, others living flesh—which lined the road.  
“You can’t help them now,” he said. Something like acid burned in his gut, and he found that he could not look at her. “They’ll die if you try to take them down, anyway.”  
“I know,” she said tightly. Vulpes resisted the urge to touch her.  
When it came to Cursor Lucullus, he barely checked the urge to attack.  
"Women are physically and intellectually inferior to men,” said the sallow-faced man as he led them to the raft, pole like a scepter in his hand. “Their role is to bear children and ensure the survival of our species.”  
“Oh, to be sure,” said the Courier.

 

Caesar’s gaze was probing, relentless. Not one to conceal his reactions, emotions, and desires, Cat mused and donned her helmet once more.  
Vulpes had slipped to his Lord’s side, ever the loyal soldier. Thus she stood alone, bracing herself for a slew of misogynistic remarks. Though it could have been much worse; she’d heard more than a few Legionaries express their eagerness to “try her out.” And though she all but quaked in her boots, Caesar’s tent was—at least for now—the safest place in the Fort.  
“How old are you?” said Caesar, eyes roving over this and that.  
“Twenty-four.”  
“So young, to have made such a name for yourself. I’m impressed.”  
“I’m humbled.”  
“And you, Vulpes?” said Caesar, and turned to the Fox. “What do you think of our little Venus?”  
“She is a capable fighter, a good negotiator. If swayed to our cause, a formidable ally.”  
“What do you recommend?”  
“I would not presume to instruct you, my Lord. That said, I’d see about putting her abilities to the test.”  
Caesar unfurled his broad, workmanlike fingers, and revealed the platinum chip. He tossed it to Cat, who caught it in one hand. “What would you have me do?” she said, staring at the tiny, gleaming disk.  
“There is an underground bunker, accessible from my camp. So far I’ve not been able to open it, but I’ve come to believe this chip is quite literally the key. Go and destroy whatever you find inside. This is your first task. I must know more of House’s machinations. We’ll go on from there. That is if you succeed.”  
Straight to the point. Cat could appreciate that even in a person she detested. “And who will be my chaperone?” she said. “Can’t imagine this is a solo venture.”  
The old man pressed his lips into a chapped, ragged line. “Vulpes will accompany you.”  
“I’ll need time to get ready. Never know what one might find in an underground bunker.”  
Caesar waved a hand in dismissal, temper dispersed like morning mist. “Take as long as you need, Courier. Within reason. Now, one of the slaves will show you to your quarters.”  
“One of the slaves? My quarters?” Cat stumbled over the words.  
“You may come and go as you please, but I’d be a shitty host if I didn’t offer you accommodations, wouldn’t I? We’ll speak again when I have need of you. Go to Lucius or Vulpes with any questions.”  
“As you wish.”  
An olive-skinned girl, short and lightly built, met her a few paces from Caesar’s tent. “Good morning, Domina,” she said, head bowed. “I’m to escort you through the camp.”  
“Oh, good morning. Who might you be?”  
“Vesta.”  
“What a pretty name. I’m Cat.”  
“Thank you, Domina.”  
“How old are you, _querida_?”  
“Almost sixteen.”  
She raised a black-gloved hand to Vesta’s cheek. The latter flinched, and Cat felt a twinge in her chest; in all likelihood, the poor thing couldn’t stand being touched—and here was Cat, looking like a human-cazador hybrid, death incarnate. “I’m sorry. That was impulsive. You have nothing to fear from me, Vesta. I promise.”  
“Y-yes, Domina. May I bring you to your quarters now?”  
“Lead the way."  
Save a washbasin and a bucket of water, the tent held little in the way of amenities; a cot, a chair, and a footlocker dominated the space. Spartan, Cat might have called it, was Caesar not so enamored of Ancient Rome. Her things were stacked in a corner, guarded by ED-E. Cat removed her helmet, and Vesta’s eyes widened.  
“Oh…I. Ah, is there anything I can do for you, Domina?”  
“You can just call me Cat.”  
“But I really can’t.”  
“Why is that?”  
“Slaves are not permitted to address their masters by their given names.”  
“I see. Well, I’m not your master, but far be it from me to make you do anything against your will.”  
“Thank you, Domina. Thank you. I…I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn?”  
Cat, who kept a tight leash on her temper and never raised her voice, resisted the urge to fly of the tent and raise hell. Instead, she smiled—as she so often did—and shook her head. “Don’t be afraid to speak your mind with me,” she said gently. “I may have arrived with Vulpes Inculta and met with Caesar, but I’m not a member of the Legion. I understand that you’re afraid, but I won’t hurt you, querida.” The Courier flounced onto the cot. “Come here and sit by me.”  
“Domina?”  
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean…Here, I’ll sit on the chair. I only want to talk.”  
Fingers twisted in her curls, Vesta gave the tent a wary, doe-eyed sweep before perching on the edge, dainty as a butterfly. She was as lovely as her name—a curse, for a woman enslaved.  
“ED-E, watch the entrance. See? No one will come in without us knowing.”  
“Yes, I see.”  
“I’d like to ask you some questions if that’s alright?”  
“That’s not for me to decide, Domina, but I’ll tell you what I can. What would you like to know?”  
“What do you know of Vulpes Inculta?”  
Vesta wrung her hands together. “No more than anyone else, I’m sure,” she said. “They say he is a great man, Caesar’s most trusted agent. A warrior of unmatched skill, but as quick and sly as a fox, like his namesake. Young, to have achieved so much in so little time. Only twenty-nine.”  
“Go on.”  
“They say he’s more cunning than cruel, though he always does as Caesar asks. But he…he leaves the slaves be.”  
Cat arched a well-groomed brow. “He’s one of the highest ranking men in the Legion and he’s never…”  
“Well, he wasn’t Legion-born. He’s from a village in New Mexico or…um, Arizona, I think? These are only things I’ve heard, Domina. As you can imagine, we’re not told much of anything. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”  
“I’ve monopolized enough of your time. If you like, though, you can ask me anything. Just know that my memory’s a bit foggy. Two bullets to the head and all.”  
The huge eyes went round and seemed to take up half of her face. For once, the girl stopped toying with her hair. “I…what?”  
“Ask me anything, if you like.”  
The girl opened her mouth, then closed it, brow crumpled. Finally, she spoke: “You were really shot in the head? _Twice_? And you survived?”  
“I did,” said Cat, revealing the scars, as she had to Vulpes the night previous. “Anything else you’d like to know?”  
“What does _querida_ mean? What is it?”  
“A pet name. It means 'dear.'’”  
“Oh, that’s…that’s very nice. Thank you. Can I—may I call you something?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, I must call you ‘Domina’ in public, and everyone calls you Cat or Courier. You call me _’querida,’_ and everyone else calls me Vesta. Or worse. Do you see?”  
“I do see. Why the sudden change of heart, though?”  
“Few are kind to me. I’m grateful, and what I’m supposed to call you doesn’t…doesn’t really fit. You remind me of the people I knew before all of this. I was little then, but I still remember. I’m grateful for that, too.” Cat offered her hand, and the girl took it with a sad little smile. “When you leave this place, I will remember you, Amica.”  
Cat swallowed the boulder-sized lump in her throat. “I am very glad to be your friend, _querida_.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A _very_ short little chapter, as I plan to move on and explore Cat and Vulpes as separate characters.

Vulpes hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Really, he hadn’t. It was a habit so ingrained in him that he often did it without thought for consequence. He was a spy, not a moralist.  
There was a rustle of fabric; he sidestepped nimbly as the tent flap whipped open, and affected the gait of one strolling on by.  
“Oh,” said the Courier, a lithe figure looming behind her. She turned to the figure with a smile. “Would you like to stay here? I’m going to step out for a moment.”  
The shadow nodded. “Yes, Domina. Domine,” she said, bowing to Vulpes before she vanished.  
“ED-E? Make sure no one enters my tent.”  
Like a bullet the eyebot shot from the tent, and set about bobbing around the entrance.  
“Vulpes?”   
He fell into step beside her. “Yes, Courier?”  
“You’ve been _inside_ me,” she said, almost hissed.  
“So I have.”  
“Then call me by my name, _pendejo_.”  
“I don’t know what that means but it sounds quite flattering.”  
“Oh, sarcasm! Didn’t know you had the capacity for it.”  
They endured a few steps in silence before he drew her into his own tent. Mars, but wasn’t she seething, furiously pacing the perimeter, hands balled into fists. Vulpes feared she might combust. “Catalina,” he said evenly, though his heart slammed against his ribcage. Was this it? Had she finally remembered? All those questions about him—had they been asked merely to inform or to confirm?   
“Ha, there it is!” she snapped and he all but sagged with relief. No, not yet. He held up his hands, palms forward, and sank into a chair.  
“I’m not going to ask. Just talk to me, if you want.”  
“You were right,” she said, ruffling the roots of her hair as she paced. “I saw the crucifixions at Nipton, at Cottonwood Cove. And the slaves. Of course, I did. But here, emaciated women shouldering burdens fit for caravans, children whipped and beaten while they’re molded into monsters? This…I didn’t know, I didn’t realize the scale of it, or—or maybe I just forgot. I haven’t remembered everything, not even a fraction of it. But I traveled with you for weeks—killed with you, _fucked_ you—and only now do I see where you’re really from, the place that shaped you, made you. I know you were listening earlier. But I also know you’re not Lanius or Caesar. I—I think you might be decent man…or capable of being one, at least. But that doesn’t matter, does it? You’re still complicit, aren’t you, or even culpable? I won’t ask you to tell me I’m wrong.”  
“Courier.”  
“Caesar’s pretty selective with the parts of Ancient Rome he likes to emulate, no? Slavery without manumission, no chance of citizenship, though I suppose his treatment of women isn’t much better…” She continued in Spanish and occasionally glanced at him with dull eyes, under which dark half-moons hung.  
Vulpes took her hand. She went stiff as a corpse but didn’t pull away. “Cat,” he said, gently squeezing the small, callused fingers.  
“I’m not blaming you. I just don’t understand why your role in this matters to me at all. This isn’t even _about_ you. Not really. You just happen to be here, in the middle of it all, making things much more complicated than I expected.” She laughed—a sharp, bitter noise.   
Tenderness was a risk he could ill afford. But how dearly he yearned to hold her, to shelter her in his arms. How strange that he yearned for anything at all.  
“I’m going to leave for a while before I do as Caesar asks,” she went on, nodding to herself, resolute. “He’ll keep the chip and I’ll tend to that bunker eventually. I don’t usually make such rash decisions—and I don’t like to—but…but this is necessary. For the future of the Mojave—whatever that may be—and, to a lesser extent, for me. You should stay, Vulpes. It would be best if you stayed.”  
It was a wound to his pride, the Courier’s rejection, though he had no reason—no right—to expect anything of her. But he understood and even felt easier in his mind at the prospect of a break from constant anxiety. It would indeed be best if he stayed. “Yes, I believe you are correct,” he said. “I will remain at Caesar’s side until such a time as you choose to return.”  
“Good. I’m glad to hear it. May I ask something of you, before I go?”  
“You may.”  
“That girl, Vesta? Look after her. Make sure no harm comes to her. I’d ask you to do the same for every woman here but I know that’s impossible. So just take care of her. Please. And don’t do it for me. Do it because it’s the right thing to do.”  
“I will do as you ask.”


End file.
